


And If You're Still Breathing, You're the Lucky Ones ('Cause Most of Us Are Heaving Through Corrupted Lungs)

by thedespisedfemaleantagonist



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, and lowkey!motherhen lexa, and of course emotional train wreck clarke, total protective dad titus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedespisedfemaleantagonist/pseuds/thedespisedfemaleantagonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“At least be there for her,” Titus says finally. “Just give her that.”</p>
<p>“I won’t watch her die,” Clarke says, hearing the ice of her own voice crack. “I don’t owe her that.”</p>
<p>___</p>
<p>Set in 3x04, and inspired by the scenes released today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And If You're Still Breathing, You're the Lucky Ones ('Cause Most of Us Are Heaving Through Corrupted Lungs)

**Author's Note:**

> This probably has mistakes, because I vomited it out in, like, twenty minutes. That said, enjoy, and here's to hoping that Lexa -- and all of us -- make it through the next episode.

“ _No confidence_.”

The phrase rings out in Clarke’s head, ricocheting off the inside of her skull, the impact leaving her swaying on her feet as she rises from her chair.

It’s just the three of them, now, in the empty throne room. The ambassadors have gone, Nia – now free – with them. Lexa sits on her throne still, her gaze on the door, but her eyes miles away. Titus stands at her side, his shoulders rigid, eyes fixed on Lexa. 

“Heda,” he growls, staring obstinately at the side of her face as she ignores his gaze. “You can’t let this happen. Not now.”

Lexa shifts in her chair, her expression impassive.

“There isn’t another option, Titus.”

Titus shakes his head, his expression teetering on the edge of distraught.

“Lexa,” he pleads, “don’t do this.”

Lexa turns to look at him, then. Her throat bobs once, her lips parting as she drags in a breath.

“This is my responsibility. There’s no other choice.”

Her words are chiseled, her expression utterly collected, as if she hasn’t been dealt a death sentence. It’s something about the placidity of her expression, the unrelenting calm, that cuts through Clarke’s numbness like a blade, pushing her forward.

“Lexa,” she says, her name like a command. Lexa’s head jerks around to look at her, almost as if she’d forgotten she was there.

Their gazes lock, Lexa’s eyes flickering over Clarke’s face. Her mouth twitches. 

“Leave us,” she orders Titus, not dropping Clarke’s gaze. “And send me the nightbloods. I need to speak with them.”

Titus stands there for a moment, shifting on his feet, his jaw working around words he can’t seem to find. Eventually he retreats toward the door, casting Clarke a pleading glance as he goes.

As soon as the door swings shut behind him, Clarke whirls on Lexa.

“What the hell are you thinking?" 

Lexa blinks, pushing herself up gracefully from her throne.

“If I don’t handle this now, it will only get worse.”

She’s still so calm, so unperturbed, and it makes Clarke’s blood boil. 

“And it’ll be even worse if you die!”

Before Lexa can respond, Clarke plunges on.

“Lexa, listen to me – I’ve seen him fight. He’s… he’s ruthless. And he hates you. You don’t stand a chance.”

She can hear the panic seeping into her words, thick and dark like blood. And judging by the way Lexa’s expression shifts, it’s written all over her face, as well. 

“Clarke,” Lexa tries, “this has to be done. If I were to brush it way – to execute the ambassadors and ignore it – I’d be labeled a tyrant. Things would grow worse. _More_ people would die. And I’d still be forced to face it eventually. This is the only option.”

Clarke shakes her head desperately. “Okay, fine. Then have someone fight for you. Your people love you. I’m sure one of them would be willing to take your place.”

“I will not have someone fight in my stead,” Lexa snaps, her voice like a knife. “This is my responsibility.”

Clarke stares at her, her eyes scanning her slender frame, sickness curling in the pit of her stomach as she imagines what’s to come.

“You promised me,” Clarke murmurs eventually. “You got on your knees and swore, to _me_ , that you would treat my needs as your own. And I need you, Lexa.”

They stare at each other for a moment longer. Lexa’s lips part, and she inhales slowly before speaking. 

“Your people will be protected. You’re the thirteenth clan, whether the others respect that fact or not. Titus and Indra will enforce it. I’ve done what I can.”

Clarke grits her teeth, taking a step closer.

“That’s not what I meant, Lexa. You can’t just – you can’t just leave me again. I’m not going to stand there and watch you die!”

Something flickers in her expression, like ripples across a lake, and her jaw falls slightly, eyes widening.

After a moment, she composes herself, swallowing her shock.

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually.

Clarke feels sick.

Before either of them can speak again, the door swings open, and a troop of children come marching in, wide-eyed and anxious, Titus on their heels. 

Clarke retreats from the room then, not certain she can stand another moment with Lexa.

* * *

 

She returns less than half an hour later, because every moment away all she can think about is how it’s one minute left of Lexa’s life that she losing. When she reaches the door of the throne room she pauses, hearing hushed voices from within. 

“There has to be something you can do. You’re Heda.”

Clarke doesn’t recognize the voice, but it sounds young. One of the nightbloods, she imagines. 

She cracks open the door and peers in to see Lexa sitting on her throne, a young boy with sandy hair standing before her, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“It’s because I’m Commander that I must do this, Aden. To lead well you must make sacrifices. Remember that.”

The boy stares at her for a moment longer, shifting from foot to foot.

“I don’t want you to die.” 

His voice sounds so small, so vulnerable, that Clarke’s chest tightens. She can see Lexa’s face from where she stands. She looks like she’s been gutted.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Lexa leans forward, reaching out to brush the boy’s hair from his face. She presses a soft kiss to his forehead and then pulls away, gripping his shoulders gently. 

“Ste yuj,” she murmurs, her eyes on his. 

After a moment, the boy nods solemnly, stepping back and folding his hands behind his back.

Clarke turns away from the door then, the tears that have been dammed up behind her eyes finally spilling over.

* * *

 Clarke barely sleeps that night. She can’t eat the next morning.

She avoids Lexa the entirety of the day, fear and guilt writhing around in her stomach, leaving her feeling like she might implode. Lexa, for her part, doesn’t call on her. Titus does, however.

He lets himself into her room two hours before the fight. There are circles under his eyes, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Convince her,” he demands, before Clarke can even rise from her chair. “She listens to you.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Clarke growls. “If she listened to me, she wouldn’t have left me at the mountain.”

Titus stares at her, brow tight, and then shakes his head.

“Please,” he says.

Clarke stares at him, half curious and half too exhausted to care. She doesn’t have to question why he worries over Lexa. 

“I’ve already tried,” she mutters eventually. “It didn’t help.” 

They stand there in silence for a moment, regarding each other.

“At least be there for her,” he says finally. “Just give her that.”

“I won’t watch her die,” Clarke says, hearing the ice of her own voice crack. “I don’t owe her that.”

Titus stares at her for a moment longer. Finally, he nods. 

“Thank you for your time, Wanheda.”

With that, he leaves.

* * *

 She can’t stay away. God help her, but she can’t.

She arrives in the knick of time, shoving her way through the crowd to find Lexa just before she draws her sword. 

Lexa looks startled, the dejection falling from her face immediately, a mixture of shock and relief taking its place. 

“I’m glad you came,” she says after a moment.

Clarke searches her face, memorizing every detail, because she doesn’t have any other choice.

“Me, too.”

* * *

 When it’s over, Clarke feels like she’s been pulled from the edge of drowning. Everything aches, but every breath she draws is such a euphoric relief.

Lexa’s a mess, blood dripping, black and glistening, from her mouth, her nose, smeared across her face to mingle with her paint. Clarke doesn’t even want to imagine the injuries beneath her clothes – cracked ribs and blossoming dark bruises and possibly a damn concussion, too – but she’s still breathing. She’s still there.

Clarke can’t keep up with her in the crowd, losing sight of her as Titus herds her away from the public, an arm floating behind her to catch her if she stumbles.

Clarke fights her way through the crowds, breaking into a run as she makes her way to the elevator.

When she finally makes her way to her throne room, she finds Lexa speaking quietly with Titus. His hands are on her shoulders, gripping her like he’s afraid she might slip away if he doesn’t. He’s smiling as he speaks – an expression incongruent with his severe, hardened features – relief and affection pouring from his eyes like a flood. Lexa looks back at him, a crooked smile hanging on her tight lips. She holds one hand against her ribs, the other gripping Titus’s arm reassuringly.

Clarke starts toward her, but before she can take a step, someone brushes past her, heading straight for Lexa.

Before either of them can react, Aden slams into Lexa, enveloping her in a bear hug, his eyes tight closed, cheek to her chest. Lexa looks startled momentarily, wincing at the blow to her ribs, but she recovers in a second, a hand coming up to cup Aden’s head, her eyes closing for a moment as she embraces him, the relief evident on her face.

It’s then that Lexa looks up to meet her gaze, her eyes widening slightly when she sees her.

Aden steps back, then, he and Titus turning to look at Clarke warily.

“I’ll go fetch a healer,” Titus murmurs, after a moment. “Come, Aden.”

Aden looks confused, but follows Titus. Clarke waits until they’ve left before approaching Lexa.

They stare at each other impassively for a moment, and Clarke swallows, trying to hold herself back. After a moment, she gives in.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, she decides, as her arms come up to wrap gently around Lexa’s neck, her cheek pressed to hers. It is what it is.

After a moment, Lexa’s arms wind tentatively around her waist, and she feels her sigh against her hair.

Right now, this is what she needs. This is what Lexa needs.

And for now, that’s enough.


End file.
